Till the very end
by jnicweb
Summary: "Well Tony, looks like you're going to keep your promise after all."
1. Chapter 1

**New story about the Avengers. Mostly Tony whump and Tony/Steve BROMANCE. No slash, but it could be if you squint.**

Chapter 1

Many people believe that fear is the best motivator. That if people are scared, they will do anything. Lots of terrorists, torturers, and politicians use this tactic. They make the victim so frightened, and so terrified, that they will do most anything to get the fear to stop.

This method has been used on me.

Multiple times.

In many different ways.

Like threats. Promises. Physical torture. Mental torture. Psychological torture is my favorite, when they slowly make you go insane by making you hallucinate, by telling you lies, by playing into your worst nightmares. It takes a while to accomplish, but in the long run, is totally worth it.

But, they would be wrong.

Fear is _not_ the best motivator.

Hope is.

When someone has lost all hope, they give up on everything. If they don't believe that things can get better, they will think _what the heck? It can't get any worse. What's the point?_ They will just be dead weight; they won't comply with orders, and they won't care if they get killed. That's bad. The victim should always have a sliver of hope that things will turn out right. Dangling hope in front of them makes them a hundred times more eager to please. There has to be some part of them that prays to God that they will get out of this mess, and if their captures, torturers, etc, play into that, the results would be astronomical.

Fear works.

But the desolation of hope is better.

I know from personal experience.

oooOOOooo

"Hey boys, if you want to make it _really_ painful, you should follow through with your fist. Like, don't just stop once you've hit me. Keep going with that momentum you've built up. That will make a satisfying _slap_ noise, and it will be more powerful and trust me, it will be painful. Just a suggestion."

Despite being tied to a chair with rope, (such amateurs; everyone knows zip-ties are way harder to escape from) I smiled at the hunk of man in front of me, and gave him a little wink to let him know that I found him slightly attractive, in an intimidating kind of way. He growled at me. I guessed my advances had been spurned. I tried not to let it show on my face that my feelings were a little hurt.

I saw him make eye contact with a non-descript man in the corner, with all the other goons that all looked alike. I wondered if the leader had some sort of farm where he grew these monster, mountain men. I could barely tell them apart. I was starting to call the hunk in front of me Hunk #1.

They all had black, beady eyes, and thin lips that were perpetually formed in a frown, and their hands were huge and so were their heads, and so were their shoulders, and pretty much everything was really big. But, I did know that the goon in the corner was the leader, even if he was trying his best to hide it.

The leader gave a minute nod at Hunk #1 in front of me, and Hunk #1 looked immensely proud that he had gotten permission from his boss. I saw his arm coming from a mile away. If I wasn't tied up, (which wouldn't be a problem in a few minutes thanks to the nail that was conveniently placed right where my tied hands were) I would have dodged it with ease, but due to my predicament, I had to take it like a man. And grown men who have survived two wars with various superhumans and aliens and have cheated death too many times to count do _not_ groan. Good thing I am _not_ a grown man, because the groan that escaped my lips was more of a whimper and if it's embarrassing to groan, it's _especially_ death-insured to whimper. If I ever make it out of here, I would edit that part out of the story.

"Oh, much better. I could really feel it that time." I said to the ground, because I didn't want anyone to see the tears leaking out of my eyes. Show weakness, and these type of people will pounce on it like a cheetah on a gazelle. Actually I don't even know if cheetahs eat gazelles. They probably do. There's probably a bajillion documentaries about it too. I'll have to watch one sometime so when I use the "pounce on it like a cheetah on a gazelle" comparison, I can be assured that I am correct. Because being wrong is even worse than groaning in a grown man's book.

Hunk #1 looked a little upset that I hadn't shown more pain when he punched me the second time. Well, I _think_ it was the second time he punched me. I don't really know when or how I got here, and I don't know how long I've been here. When there aren't any clocks, or windows it's kind of hard to judge time. Being unconscious doesn't help either.

He glanced over at the Leader Goon in the corner, and some sort of signal passed between them, because Hunk #1 stepped to the side, and another Hunk took his place. This one was a little different than the others, because he had a sort of intelligence hidden behind his beady, black eyes. He made me slightly more scared than Hunk #1. But since the frightened level was at about negative one with Hunk #1, I wasn't that worried about Hunk #2.

I should have been worried.

He reached into his suit jacket (why do people insist on torturing in _suits?_ It's impossible to get bloodstains out of suits, and ironing is a bitch) and pulled out a little bag. Suddenly I got hit with chills. Shivers ran through my entire body, making my hair stand up at attention. I knew that the bag meant bad news for me and good news for the Goons.

"So, whatcha got there? Are we going to paint our nails together? Have a little bonding experience?" When you're unsure what your captors want, I believe sarcasm is the best approach. Then they think you're dumb, and will treat you as such. They won't be afraid to gossip in front of you, and they will think they have to explain every little detail to you. It's a little condescending, but worth it if you can get information.

Unfortunately, Hunk #2 saw right through my stupid act and just glared at me. I paid no attention to it, and just kept my idiotic grin on my face, almost daring him to wipe it off.

Hunk #2 looked back down at his little bag and slowly undid the ties holding it closed. I knew he was doing it slowly on purpose, in order to draw out the suspense and leave me guessing what was in it. It is a common tactic used by torturers; to draw out suspense so the victim is agonizing over what on earth they're going to do to him. Fortunately, I have been on the receiving side of that tactic. But, that doesn't mean I know how to stop the agonizing question of _what's in the bag?_

Finally he had untied the strings around the bag. He had a wicked, evil grin on his face and that's what told me I was deep doo-doo.

He stuck his hand in the little black bag.

He stuck his hand in down to the elbow.

He was acting like it was Mary fricking Poppins' fricking bag, the amount of time he spent rummaging around in that itty bitty little thing.

His hand must have been in there for at least three years.

After another millennia, his hand finally starting coming out of the bag.

First his forearm.

Then his wrist.

Then his hand.

Then his fingers.

He was holding a locket.

My locket.

The locket that said _Tony Stark has a heart_ on it.

 _My locket._

No one touches my locket.

My fists started to clench as I saw it dangling from his hand, like it was some worthless dog-tag.

And he had the _nerve_ to _smile_ at me. He grinned at me, he smirked at me, like this was all some sort of sick game, and I was the prey. His mouth curve up and up and up until he looked like the damn Cheshire cat.

I was angry.

 _We're all mad here._

 _Off with her head._

The nail wasn't cutting it anymore; I started shaking, struggling against the ropes around my wrists. I lunged and snarled at the hunk in front of me, infuriated that he thought he had the _right_ to hold _my_ locket and _mock_ me.

And his grin just got _bigger._ He shook the locket in his hands, as if to say _come and get it._

And that set me off the edge.

I started screaming and spitting and shaking even harder, desperate to get free of my bonds and yank the locket out of his unworthy hands and wipe the smirk off his face and _kill every single one of them_.

I saw red.

Blood red.

I wanted to see red all over the surface of the walls. I wanted it to _drip_ with crimson. I wanted smears and handprints and tears covering every inch of the room. I wanted it to dry, and when they thought about torturing someone else in there, they would remember the amazing paint job I did for them.

The hunk must have seen the murderous look in my eye, because he stopped waving the locket in my face. He walked over to the table in the corner of the room, and pulled out a hammer from the inside of his suit jacket.

Instantaneously all the blood from my face drained. My eyes widened.

 _Oh no._

 _Please, anything but this._

 _I'll give you anything you want._

 _Just please, not this._

I tried to look away, but the chair only allowed for so much movement. So I sat there and watched as he brought the hammer down on the locket and heard as the metal crunched under the weight of it and realized that it was more than a demoralization technique.

It was a threat.

 **Let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Some suicidal thoughts in this one...**

Chapter 2

I stayed in that room for another three days, looking at my locket on the table. The picture had crinkled a little, and the metal was completely ruined, but I thought I might be able to save the chain, and some of the inscription.

And I still had zero ideas as to why they even wanted me here. No questions had been asked, and no ransom had gone out. I would have known, because Pepper would have the smarts to ask to talk to me, to insure that I was still alive.

Of course, they tortured me.

They used the natural techniques; whipping, (which was painful, until after the fortieth because I passed out) drowning, (I can usually hold my breath for up to two and a half minutes, so they tired of that quickly) and everyone's favorite, knives.

Knives are a curious way of torturing someone.

There are many different ways you can torture someone using knives.

You could use the most common one; cut the victim. Dull knives work best for this, because they leave a jagged edge on the skin, and generally take longer to heal, but for some reason, really sharp knives instill more fear into people. The danger with really sharp knives though, is that they are so sharp, you almost don't feel the pain, so there is the chance you might bleed out and not even realize it.

Or you, the captor, could cut _yourself._ Most people don't really think of this as a possible way to scare the victim, because it involves harming yourself, instead of the victim. But it is very effective. By cutting yourself, it's like saying _if I'm willing to do this to myself, think of what I will do to you._ That's much scarier than the possibility of bleeding out.

But there is another way to use knives to your advantage.

It's not really seen as _torture_ per se, more like a scare tactic. Only the really determined captors use it, and even then, it takes a committed person to follow through, because it involves killing your own guys. When the boss dude starts killing the guys who work for him, it makes him look crazy, like he'll do anything to get what he wants. It's useful in the beginning, to get the victim scared of the crazy madman who is keeping them hostage. But, it also costs the lives of your men, so not exactly cost-efficient.

My captors were very familiar with various ways of torture, so they experimented with all three.

First they stabbed, mangled and cut me. They kept me bound to the chair so I couldn't squirm away from the knife, but it didn't matter. My morale was already at an all-time low because of the locket, so I wasn't as receptive as I usually was. I couldn't help thinking that they might have missed my sarcastic comments.

They started with my forearms. Forearms hurt a lot when they're cut, but they don't let out a ton of blood, unless you're cutting the wrist vertically. Then you could bleed out within an hour. But they were surprisingly careful to avoid my wrist, and mostly just cut at the bend in my arm, probably to ensure that whenever I bent my arm, the wound would reopen. Its little things like that that really get to the victim.

Then they moved to my thighs. Thighs are a common place to cut if you're into self-harm. The scars are easy to hide under shorts or pants, but they don't heal very nicely. They scar over really rough and jagged, no matter what kind of knife you use. And they didn't do it in nice, even lines. The cuts crisscrossed and they weren't the same length and they weren't made with the same knife so the skin wasn't cut the same way and there weren't the same amount on each leg. I'm sure they did it to mess with my OCD.

After my thighs they realized that they weren't getting a rise out of me, so they moved to cutting themselves, which was even more of a disaster. I don't care if they cut themselves; in fact, I faked being scared so they would do it some more. But they stopped that relatively fast.

I think that the boss man probably knew that the whole killing his own men thing wouldn't really work on me, but he tried his best to make it scare me. He started screaming and spitting at me, getting super angry that I wasn't telling him anything (even though he hadn't asked me anything) and then he started killing his dudes because "they weren't getting enough answers." It was obviously staged, because the men didn't even blink when their boss came at them with a knife. I thought it was admirable, how much respect and loyalty they had to the crazy man if they were willing to die for him.

The whole thing was just for show though, so after two guys, the boss stopped with the killing.

After the knives, they left me alone for a couple hours. At least, I thought it was a couple hours. It felt like days, but it probably wasn't.

When someone did reappear in the room, it was the boss. He looked solemn, like he was disappointed in me. It's a common practice among kidnappers; pretend to be sad and regretful that you haven't gotten any information after a lengthy torture session. Sometimes the victim will feel bad themselves, or commiserate with their captors, or simply be tired of being tortured, and try to be as helpful as possible so that they will get off without being hurt any further. It's not a very good tactic, but sometimes it works to reestablish the image of a madman.

As he walked in through the door, I smiled my signature Tony Stark smile. It works on everyone except Pepper, and apparently the boss man because he just shook his head at me, like I was a troubled son of his who kept getting in trouble.

"I'm very disappointed in you Tony." Ah, classic move. Use the first name to initiate friendship. Say you're disappointed in the victim so they automatically feel they've done something bad.

"Let's skip the crap and get right to the heart of the matter. You haven't asked me anything, yet you say you're _disappointed._ What do you want from me?" I decided to not beat around the bush, because frankly, I was getting really sick of their whole _tough guy_ act. I just wanted to go home.

"Ah, anxious are we? Well, I'll tell you what I want. I don't want anything. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. I just like watching you squirm and bleed like a _person._ I just like seeing you reduced to a shadow of the great _Iron Man._ I like seeing you as the helpless Tony Stark, not hiding behind the mask of your superhero costume. That's all really." He really was crazy. He was truly certifiably insane. Normally kidnappers want money, or immunity for a crime they committed, or a new identity, or free passage out of the country. I've never come across a captor who just wanted to watch someone fall apart. Because if that was the case, he could keep me here forever if he wanted. He had nothing to gain from letting me go.

"So you're going to keep me here until the end of eternity?" I highly doubted that someone had that much patience.

"Of course. I want to see Iron Man turn human. I want you to feel the inevitability that you will die as a scared mortal who accomplished nothing. You thought Iron Man would provide you with the pride that comes with doing something _right_ , because you had spent _so_ long doing wrong. But you got so used to hiding inside your little iron suit that you forgot what it feels like to be normal. You're scared of being normal. You want to prove to yourself that you can be _extraordinary_. You want to be a superhero. So I'm going to take that away from you." He was going to take away my reason for _living._ He was going to take away every good thing I had ever done.

"Why? Why do you care so much? What have I ever done to you?" I pleaded with him.

He just sneered at me.

"Don't ask what you've done to _me_. Ask what you've done to the _world._ You've changed it into this superhero versus villain thing. No one needs normal people anymore. I used to be the best at my job. Torturing was my calling. Now I'm getting bought out by other bad guys who wear masks and capes. The world has no use for people like me anymore. I'm doing everyone a favor by holding you here. Don't make me out to be the bad guy Tony. I'm just trying to make a living here." He acted like he had no choice, but he did. He didn't have to keep me here. There are other ways to teach me a lesson. And this wasn't one.

"I'm not a good guy. I do this for my own purposes, you said so yourself. I just want to do right so I can get rid of the guilt of being wrong my whole life. I'm not the one you want to punish here. So why don't we just untie the ropes around my wrists and we can talk about this like men?" I tried to be reasonable with him, but he wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you get it? _I don't like you._ You disgust me. _You_ are the one I want to punish. I don't care if you're not the only one who has ruined the world. You are the one who relies the most on the mask and fancy metal suit. So I'm going to take it away, and make you feel normal and unwanted and _useless_ just like everyone else _._ See how _you_ like it." With that, he spit in my face. It was the ultimate embarrassment, because I couldn't reach up to wipe it off, so his saliva sat on my face, dripping down my cheeks and hitting my neck.

He looked me up and down, as if I was a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. And I guess, that's exactly what he wanted me to be. He wanted me to me to be worthless and nothing. He wanted me to be less than nothing.

And that's when I realized that he was never going to let me go.

He was going to keep me here until he deemed I was _human_ enough. And I wouldn't be human enough until he saw with his own eyes that I could die.

I was going to die alone and helpless. I was going to die without ever seeing Pepper again. I was going to die knowing that the world is probably a better place without me in it. I was never getting out of here.

And that scared me even more than the destruction of my locket.

He had successfully destroyed all hope of rescue or escape.

And I didn't even care if I lived or died anymore.

 **Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I refused to talk to anyone for the next two days. I didn't flinch when they tied a rope around my neck. I didn't squirm when they held a knife to my throat. I didn't even look up when they brought in a caplet of cyanide and threatened to make me swallow it.

I was done.

I was done being a smart-ass. I was done caring about what happened to me because I knew I wasn't getting out of there alive.

They almost got a rise out of me when they smothered me with a pillow. I have a terrible fear of being deprived of oxygen because oxygen is necessary for life, and I understandably have a healthy fear of not having enough. But I hear that asphyxiation is a rather painless way to die, once you pass out from lack of oxygen. Personally, I think burning or bleeding out or starvation would be the worst way to go. But I don't really have a choice, do I? I think it's pretty clear that I'm going to die because I've lost the will to live.

oooOOOooo

I started refusing food after that.

I didn't drink either.

I kept my eyes closed and my head slumped against my chest.

I didn't really care about anything anymore.

Nothing he did could affect me anymore.

I was completely isolated and alone.

I had done everything I could to make the world a better place, and my last gift to it would be removing myself from it.

I felt at peace with myself for the first time in my life.

I could die…at last.

I felt my lips curving up into the first smile I had genuinely meant since I arrived here.

My heartbeat slowed and slowed and finally

stopped.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The next time I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Pepper's face above mine. I thought _heaven is pretty nice._

Then she slapped me and I knew that I wasn't in heaven.

Then I realized that I wasn't dead.

Then I started having a panic attack because I couldn't remember how I had gotten out of the little room with the crazy man or how I had survived my man-made heart attack or where I was or who I was or what anything was.

Then everything went dark again and I stopped thinking.

oooOOOooo

I had more luck with the next time I woke up.

And by _luck,_ I meant that I didn't have a panic attack.

Pepper's face still met mine and now that I was a little more lucid, I could see the fury and concern battling in her eyes. I guessed I had missed that the first time I woke up.

Then someone coughed and I saw the entire team had visited me on my death bed. I was touched that they had been worried enough to see me. Or they had wanted to celebrate when I finally died.

"Hey guys," my throat was really scratchy because I hadn't used it in over a week, "why the long faces? You guys are acting like someone died-oh, wait," I thought a little dark humor would be appreciated, but by their stern looks and stony eyes it was not appreciated.

"I guess this is not the time to joke about how I died. Speaking of that, how did I survive that? And how did I get out of there?" I was starting to remember why I had had a panic attack, and it was starting to come back.

"Well, about the whole dying part, you didn't _really_ die," typical Bruce getting all technical about me dying. My panic attack was still making itself known, and I tried to bury it deep down in my chest.

"Oh, that's a relief." My breath started coming out in little gasps. I wasn't getting enough air in my lungs. I wasn't ready to die. Not again.

"Yeah, your heart stopped, but it was only for a fraction of a second. You were revived shortly after that and your brain was active the whole time. So technically, you didn't die." Bruce still wasn't meeting my eyes, and neither was anyone else. I was starting to wonder what else they hadn't told me.

"So, what's wrong? What happened while I was at the tea party with Hunk #1 and company?" I looked around confused. What had happened while I was in the torture chamber? But nobody looked at me, or answered my questions.

"Okay. I guess I'll be going now." The panic attack was once again making a comeback and I feared I would pass out. They didn't need to see that so I needed to get the hell out of their sight. I started lifting myself up even though agony coursed through my body and my head started to feel heavy and my vision started blacking out and my arms were screaming at me to quit it.

"No wait. You can't leave yet. You're still recovering." Bruce surged forward to push my shoulders back on the bed.

"So, why exactly am I recovering from a kidnapping?" It was like prying teeth, trying to get information out of these people.

"That's a bit hard to explain…" Natasha came to my rescue. "Let me start at the beginning. So, we got some intel on a group in South Africa a couple months ago. You know about it. They call themselves the 'Fearists' and they protect abused children." Natasha was right; I did know about the Fearists but I didn't know what they had to do with me.

"They were trying to get rid of kidnappers in their village. The Fearists enlisted our help in keeping their village safe." I was still lost on the connection.

"We had little to no information on the kidnappers. They called themselves the Purifiers, and they believed that anyone weak enough to have been abused wasn't good enough to be alive, so they resented the Fearists for keeping the abuse victims alive. But that's it. That's all we knew." Natasha still wasn't getting to the point where they kidnapped me.

"Okay, so we helped the Fearists protect their village. Cool, that's what we do. Where does this get interesting?" I was in pain and getting increasingly impatient with Natasha. I just wanted answers and then go back to sleep.

"Well we sent in an undercover agent to infiltrate their operation and send us information." Alright, standard operating procedure. I still wasn't getting the whole point though.

"Will you just tell me the problem? Just tell me where I enter in this elaborate scheme?" My patience had run out.

"We sent in Steve to get information." Finally, the truth comes out.

"And why didn't I know about this beforehand?" So much for being a team.

"You were on that mission in Russia and we couldn't get a hold of you so we just went ahead with it. Steve had gone to South Africa to gather intel from the natives. It didn't start out as an undercover mission until the Purifiers approached Steve, wanting him to join their group. They threatened Steve and personally I thought it was a perfect idea to get more information from them.

"So, while you were still in Russia, we sent him in. He reported information back to us, and we figured out where they were operation from, who their leader was and even their family members, but we still didn't know where they kept the kidnapped children. So we kept him in. And we didn't tell you because we knew you wouldn't agree with Steve going undercover without a back-up team and it was too risky to pull him out." Natasha was really starting to get on my nerves with her emotionless voice and matter of fact expression.

"Okay? So you sent Steve in there, without me knowing, and had him infiltrate the kidnappers' group so he could, what? Politely ask them to leave? Suggest that there was another village that had better people to kidnap?" I didn't know how these people operated without me. Their plans were half-planned and had no way to ensure that everyone came out on the other side.

"No, we just wanted more information about them." Natasha told me.

"Alright, so Steve gets buddy-buddy with the kidnappers, gets some info, gets out and we get them to move, how?" I could have planned a better plan with a banana as my partner and back-up squad.

"We would take out their operatives one by one. Except, we didn't count on you getting kidnapped, so that kind of threw a wrench in our plan." Clint acted like it was my fault for getting kidnapped. I didn't even remember how they took me.

"Actually, I don't even remember how they ambushed me, or whatever. I only remember being in the Stark Tower, and then I woke up when they punched me." They weren't looking at me anymore.

"Um, that's because I was the one to kidnap you. It was an exercise to prove myself to them." Up until this point Steve had remained suspiciously quiet, and now I knew why.

"And actually, if it hadn't been Steve to bring you in, you would be dead." Natasha spoke up again.

"That's right, he was the one to make sure you didn't die by the kidnappers' hand. He gave you a serum Fury's been experimenting on. It dulls pain so you don't die from it, which can be helpful for operatives in the field, like you. The only downside is that you lose the memory of when you took it, so you can't be tortured into telling them about the serum," Clint explained without emotion.

"Do you guys routinely gamble with people's lives without their knowledge? Does the word 'team' mean something different to you people? Because I thought that being a team meant that we all cooperate _together_ and make decisions _together_ and fight bad guys _together_. But maybe I'm reading the wrong Webster's Dictionary." I thought that sarcasm was appropriate. I was shoving the hurt down inside and Pepper always tells me not to, but I can't help it.

"Tony you need to understand that we did all this in order to keep you alive. We would never sacrifice any of our team members for information. You know that." Natasha wasn't really on my good side right now, so I was in no mind to listen to her. So I pretended I didn't hear her.

"Natasha, I don't care if I'm alive. I know you guys did _everything you could._ I'm just surprised that you didn't consult with me on the matter of my own life. Oh wait, I'm not surprised at all actually. I always knew you guys could never trust someone fully and unconditionally. It's just not in our DNA, is it?" I genuinely thought that we were sharing information from the start. I guess I was wrong.

"Tony, I want you to know that it killed every single one of us to not tell you about the undercover mission. And you have to know that this is the only thing we haven't consulted with you. And we knew you would never agree to it, because you wouldn't think it would be worth it and you know that I would never let those poor kids suffer without any hope that they would get rescued. I had to do something. And I'm sorry that we took advantage of you and I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this and I wish that it was me who was the one to tell you about this whole South Africa thing and I'm sorry that we went behind your back like this.

"You're right, we are a team and as a team, and I realize this is no reason for you to trust me anymore, but I wanted you to know that I did everything in my power to make sure you didn't die in there without a friend. I would have stayed by your side till the very end." Steve looked me in the eye the entire time during his speech. I respected him even more for not looking at the ground like a coward.

"Well, horrible apology accepted," I smiled a sarcastic to let him know that that was the most heartfelt and sincere apology I had ever heard someone give. And I acted as a second job.

"And, in a gesture of good faith, you said you were going to make sure I didn't die without a friend, and I want you to know that I promise the same thing to you; I will stay with you till the very end." At the end of my heartfelt speech, I smiled at Steve, like really smiled without any sarcasm or cynicism, and he nodded, as close to a hug as we would ever get.

 **Let me know what you think!**


	5. Epilogue

**Well...this is late.**

Epilogue

"Well Tony, looks like you're going to keep your promise after all," Steve wheezed from the floor. He was out of breath and his chest was heaving like he had just run a marathon.

His head was in my arms and his body was awkwardly draped over my lap. Blood stained his clothes and I knew there was no way I was going to get it out of mine either. I tried not to dwell on the fact that the human body has around 1.3 gallons of blood and it takes around thirty minutes to bleed out from a major artery or blood vessel.

"You know Steve, I fully meant I would make sure you didn't die without a friend, but this wasn't exactly what I meant," I tried for a joke, but it fell flat because my eyes were wet and my nose was dripping. I fastidiously refused to look anywhere except his face, because I knew if I looked anywhere else, like his blood-stained clothes, I would lose control of my emotions and that wouldn't help me or Steve.

"I just want you to know Tony," Steve coughed and I tried to ignore the red that came up with it, "that I'm glad it's you with me." I didn't pretend to misunderstand him. I couldn't think of anyone else I'd want with me either. I remembered what he said about staying with me till the very end. I was glad that I was here for him, and I couldn't help thinking that he wasn't going to be able to keep his promise to me. I hadn't ever known Steve to break a promise, but I knew this was one he couldn't keep. The thought made me unbearably sad. That this man, this superhuman was going to be beaten down and defeated by something as simple as blood loss and because of it his value in his own eyes would decrease because of the broken promise he had no chance of keeping.

He closed his eyes for a second.

"No no no Steve, don't close your eyes. Keep them open don't close them just keep your eyes open and stay with me just keep breathing and keep your eyes open because everything will be okay and we'll be okay I promise and you know I never break my promises I just need you to keep your eyes open and don't close them and just please stay with me Steve you promised you'd be with me till the end and I don't want this to be the end please don't let this be the end. Just stay with me." I started rocking my body to quell the sobs that were desperately trying to escape my body.

"Everything will be okay Tony," Steve whispered with his eyes closed, "you'll be okay," he had a faint smile on his face and the last thing I heard him say before his body relaxed in my arms was, "I promise." I hoped he had no intention of breaking this last promise to me.

As I looked down at the body in my arms, and saw the blood staining my clothes that would always be a reminder of the friend I had lost, I couldn't keep my emotions inside anymore. I let go of the wave of desperation and anguish and fear and depression and _anger_ and grief and all the things I didn't say to him and the guilt that I couldn't _do_ something and _why_ did this happen and what I could have done differently and promises that were broken and promises that should have never been kept because this wasn't _fair_ and we were supposed to do _good_ in the world and you can't do good without your conscience and he was _my_ conscience and damn it we were supposed to be superheroes not mortals.

I screamed and screamed and screamed until I lost my voice, then I just cried and let my tears run over Steve thinking that he would have liked to witness this, the first time Tony Stark ever cried. I smashed the walls and hugged his body to my chest and cried and screamed and the blood on my clothes reminded me of him and I wanted to rip them off and cherish them forever at the same time because I didn't want to forget but the pain of remembering was too much. Suddenly I wanted the serum he had given me when I had been kidnapped so maybe I wouldn't remember this horrid memory and it would be erased forever and this pain wouldn't kill me because I feared it would. I was drowning in grief and I wanted it to stop because I couldn't swim and I wanted it to _stop_ it wasn't fair that he left me alone and I just wanted everything to stop.

I lay down next to his still body with his closed eyes.

I arranged my arms in the same way as his, on top of my chest, and my legs splayed out at weird angles but I rested my head opposite his so we were looking at each other.

I closed my eyes and listened to my heartbeat, and pretended that his was beating at the same time as mine so the silence wouldn't be deafening.

Eventually I fell asleep like that, in the same position as him, and thought that I would like to stay here for the rest of my life. And as the boat started to sink, I did. I liked to think that he had kept his promise to me; he was there till the very end.

 **I want feedback on their death scenes and the overall ending. Please tell me what you honestly thought about it so I can make my writing better!**


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